Return of the King
by Glint7
Summary: Believing the tyrant, the Lich King had been defeated, the people of Azeroth rejoiced, but what they failed to realize are that some nightmares are not meant to end so easily.
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer: I do not own World of Warcraft_

**Return of the King**

**Prologue: Rise of the Fallen King**

The sun was low in the sky as a cold breeze swept through the forests of Crystalsong. The crystals glistened with the fading sunlight as the mighty blaze melted from the sky, making way for the night. The Great Tree stood perfectly still while the mystical city of Dalaran floated high above. Celebrating could be heard from within the cities walls, for the tyrant _The Lich King _had been finally defeated,all believing that the nightmare had finally ceased.

Amongst the crystal trees lay an unmarked grave. No flowers or marker were put in place, nothing to honor ones memory. A powerful presence surrounded the grave casting an eerie shadow over the burial site. The site received no visitors, all lay quite and deathly still.

A lone howl abruptly pierced the silence as the sanguine color of night took over the sky. The grave mound began to shake as if a ferocious beast was attempting to break through the frozen dirt. An armored hand shot fourth, followed by a second as the figure slowly began to pull itself from its earthly prison.

As the figure fully emerged from the grave it could be seen that he was heavily armored and carried what seemed to be the hilt of a shattered sword at his hip. His armor was as black as the night sky and was adorned with horned skulls. Around his shoulders was a ragged midnight cloak which flowed freely down his back. His hair was as white as snow flowing past his shoulders, while his skin was grey and as cold as ice.

"_Who am I?" _The man whispered, having no recollection of his past. No memories of his life. Noticing the shattered blade at his side he slowly drew it and examined it. The sword seemed vaguely familiar to him yet the armored man could still not place the memory.

With no memory of his former self the man started wandering aimlessly into the night, broken blade still drawn as he headed north into the waiting darkness. He wandered for what seemed like hours crossing into a region that held no life, only a frozen waste filled with death. The ground was solid ice that was miles thick, nothing grew here, and nothing lived. The man looked around him and saw a massive citadel looming in the distance. With his course set he began the long journal to the dark fortress.

_Father…forgive me for what I have to do…_

The man stumbled and fell as the memory faded as quickly as it had come. "Was that my memory?" the man whispered, waiting for another one to emerge from the depths of his mind. When nothing happened the man continued his course towards the dread citadel.

_Succeeding you, father…_

The man paused for a moment waiting for the memory to fade before continuing his trek.

_We may never know, Uther. I intend to live forever._

_It's time to end the game. Once, and for all._

_Now…we are one._

The figure shrugged off the memories as he quickened his pace. As he approached the gates of the citadel the gates flew open as if welcoming him back. Each stride he took more memories flooded into his mind filling his empty mind with deeds from the past.

…_and the true meaning…of __**fear.**_

_All that I am__ anger, cruelty, vengeance…_

The armored man made his ways up the spire which were ascending to the heavens themselves, his shattered blade ever at ready. With each passing memory he began to remember more and more of himself, in life _and undeath. _He finally came upon the end of the spire which lead to platform coated in ice. On the platform was a figure entombed in ice resting on a frozen throne.

The man gave a wicked grin as he stalked towards the encased figure and raised the shattered hilt of the blade ramming it into the icy tomb. The ice shattered as if it were glass, the figure seated on the throne looked up in surprise at the man before him. Golden eyes could be seen from beneath the helmet the man wore seated on the throne as he raised his arms in defense to his attacker.

_Let them come. Frostmourne hungers…_

"Artha-" the seated man said, before the broken blade was buried into his chest.

The armored figure ripped the helmet off the stabbed man and freed his blade from the man's chest. The seated figure was engulfed in flames and turned to ash on the spot. A large breeze swept in carrying the ashes into the frozen wastes below.

"No hard feelings…just reclaiming what is rightfully _mine_" Arthas said, as he put the helm on to his head.

The Lich King's gaze took in the frozen wastes before him, atop his frozen throne he could see the destruction that had been caused to his citadel after his defeat. His eyes taking in all what lay before him, his gaze floated to the direction of Dalaran where the bust of Tirion and the shattered Frostmourne lay. Looking at his broken sword remembering how it was broken bringing along his defeat.

The Lich King glanced back to look at his throne remembering everything that had transpired.

"So it begins where it had ended…"

**Author's Note: Ok I have no idea where Arthas's grave is, I looked and could not find any location so I just picked Crystalsong. If a location is released I'll change the setting if needed. As for Frostmourne… again no idea what happened to it… tried to find out and failed. Decided to give Arthas the hilt and put the rest of the pieces in other locations. Enjoy.**

_**Please Read and Review**_


	2. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I do not own World of Warcraft_

**Return of the King**

**Chapter 1: Tactics and Nostalgia **

The cold winds blew viciously in Icecrown, freezing all who went unsheltered. High above over looking the ice-covered wastes sat the Lich King sitting atop his frozen throne. He had been there for hours on end, thinking…planning, contemplating his next course of action.

The forces of the Horde and the Alliance struggled to remove the undead threat in the Eastern Kingdoms, having already reclaimed Andorhal which was situated in the Western Plaguelands. Slowly the Scourge was being eradicated from the face of Azeroth, soon only Northrend would remained Scourge domain.

"Let them have their kingdoms back" Arthas muttered to himself "All believe I have been defeated." He realized it was for the best. With the Horde and Alliance thinking him dead, he could slowly rebuild his kingdom, stronger, grander than before. Yet it would take time, he would have to be discrete or risk further confrontation with the forces of the Light. Starting with almost nothing he would have to rise from the ashes and once again become the unholy force that all feared.

In the midst of Naxxramas being basically in ruins, the Scourge lieutenants either dead or in hiding, and Stratholme being cleared out the Lich King's hold in the Eastern Kingdoms was quickly weakening. It would not be before long that all of the undead would be annihilated from the Eastern Kingdoms as well as Kalimdor.

No one would suspect the Lich King to be secretly plotting the obliteration of all life. Not being dead as the bold paladin Tirion Fordring clearly stated to the rest of the world. All the fools believing him that the terror had finally ended. Yet Tirion knew the price that needed to be paid to truly defeat the Lich King, and the dreaded truth being that there must always be a _Lich King._

Tirion's lie bought Arthas time to organize and rebuild his empire and his armies. The Light's own deception would be their downfall. Glancing at his shattered sword, examining the barbed hilt to the guard, eyes ending on the broken blade Arthas felt fury rise within him.

"First thing is first, you my dear blade must be reformed stronger then before" Arthas said. Remember how Frostmourne was broken by the Ashbringer which signaled his defeat.

"You failed me once… _you _shall not do so again_… next tim_e you will be the one to shatter the bringer of ash, and take the soul of the one who defied me!" Arthas roared, slowly rising from his throne, to gaze in the direction of Dalaran.

"You mock me, celebrate my end!" Arthas bellowed his voice being carried off by the frozen winds. "Believe me dead, to be forgotten… believing that_ fear_ has finally been lifted from your hearts."

The winds howled viciously as the Lich King's voice reached a crescendo. The winds screamed as if agreeing with the plated king, the artic fury of Northrend whipping his black cloak around, beating at his battle worn armor.

"I _will break_ you all! Forcing you all to remember the true meaning of trepidation, of loss… and anguish" Arthas roared. Breathing heavily as his voice returned to him, the winds dying down as the king went silent.

"I will be remembered…" Arthas whispered.

_ Tirion Fordring stood in the fields of Hearthglen looking on as the youths played by the river. All was well, the tyrant had been defeated and the tension between the Horde and the Alliance had died down. He let a small smile grace his aging face as he enjoyed the sunshine beat down on his face. His eyes widened suddenly as the sky blackened and the citizens were twisted and morphed into the dreaded ghouls of the Scourge. He looked on as his village was consumed by a ravenous fire. _

"_It has been a long time Tirion…" a cold voice behind him said. Tirion quickly turned to come face to face with the Lich King himself. _

"_N-no you're dead, I saw you die!" Tirion shouted back as he stumbled trying to escape the fiend. Tirion reached for the Ashbringer… which was no longer at his side. A dark shadow loomed above him. He looked up into the azure eyes of the Lich King, still glowing with the same menacing icy blue hue. _

"_You have something which is mine that I tend to reclaim…" the king said, as he raised a broken sword above his head. _

Tirion woke with a start, covered with a cold sweat. He trembled as he recalled his most recent horrid dream involving the Lich King. Ever since The Lord of the Dead had been routed, Tirion had been plagued with nightmares, but this latest one seemed all too real.

A cold breeze blew in from an opened window, groggily Tirion got out of his canopy bed to close the casement. He paused for a moment before turning to the far wall of his private quarters eyes settling on a small statue placed on the wall. He made his way over to the small figuring and gently pushed down on it. A small section of the wall before him swung open revealing a flight of stairs which descended into the earth.

The aging paladin made his way down the stairs which led to a small room, a lone chest on the opposite wall. He knelt before the chest contemplating weather to open it or not. Letting out a small sigh he took out a small key which was kept securely around his neck and slowing opened the chest before him. His breath caught in his throat, his eyes taking in the object that lay within.

Before Tirion lay the fragments of _Frostmourne. _

It called out to him begging to be made whole, its siren song drawing in the weak willed men. Tiron reached for it, hand trembling as it neared the broken shards, at the last second he pulled back and hastening snapped the chest shut, cutting off the sword's promises of power.

"I am getting to old for this" Tirion muttered, as he stood his eyes still focused on the chest. "The nightmare is over now, he is dead."

It was true that the Lich King had been defeated, but at what cost? A noble soul had to be eternally damned and shackled, for there must always be a _Lich King._ Tirion believed this was the reason for his nightmares, overwhelmed with guilt at letting Bolvar take the fall instead of himself. Lying to the world that the tyrant was dead, but in reality he only slept.

Tirion made his way up the flight of stair back into his private quarters, an unsettling feeling filling him completely. As he lay back down on his bed a cold breeze grazed the back of his neck. Disturbed, sleep quickly overcame the aging man and he soon drifted off into what seemed a peaceful sleep.

**Author's Note: Ok so here is chapter one, thank you for all those who reviewed I greatly appreciate it. I will try to update as soon as I can so bear with me. **

_**Please Read and Review**_

**Up next: Glory of Frostmourne**

The Ashbringer at his side he looked up into menacing azure eyes.

"Welcome back Tirion, it has been far too long."

Tirion got into a crouching position ready to strike at his tormentor. But suddenly stopped as his knees became weak, and his eyes widened, something akin to fear replacing the look of conviction. The man before him casually removed his helm revealing the face of the damned prince of Lordaeron…_Arthas._


End file.
